Talking.

Speculating.

Alexi and Jude were on the concrete docks that led to the ship. The waters of the Caribbean still glittered like diamonds.

The breeze blew.

There was no residue here of the acrid smell of smoke.

People were staring at Jude, naturally enough. He looked like a walking burnt-out tree. Many asked if he was all right.

Jude told them that he was.

Security at the ship's boarding station stopped them to ask how the fire had started. "They don't know yet," Jude said. "An explosion-and a burst of fire. But the cops are on it," he a.s.sured them.

Once they reached Alexi's cabin, he made a point of waiting until she stepped inside. Then he asked politely, "May I escort you to work this evening? Or perhaps for dinner first?" Checking his watch, he said, "It's just four o'clock. We can do whatever you'd like. Whatever your pleasure."

Whatever her pleasure. Nothing suggestive in his tone. She was creating scenes in her mind, and she should've felt guilty-no, of course, she shouldn't feel guilty! She'd lost the man she'd adored, but not a soul in the world believed she should give up on life or love or...

s.e.x.

But Jude wasn't hitting on her. No, she was the one imagining what he'd be like in bed.

"If you're hungry, I'll be happy to go to the employee cafeteria with you," she said. "I don't have to set up before nine. The last tours get back to the docks around seven and port days make things a bit later. I'll just shower and get ready for the evening myself and you can let me know...whatever your pleasure is," she told him.

Oh, G.o.d, did that sound as if I was. .h.i.tting on him?

If so, he was polite enough not to react. "Thanks. Don't leave until I'm back, okay? Feeling a little skittish."

She nodded and he left.

His presence seemed to linger, and she couldn't help wondering what would've happened if she'd asked him to stay.

Jude checked in with Jackson again before heading into the shower; Jackson was on board, and Agent Boulder was handling things from the American agency sector on land. Jackson reported that there was nothing new. No matter how much they wanted information quickly, the fire marshal still had to do his job.

Jude turned on the water. Then, just as he'd worked up a good lather, he heard his phone ring. He stepped out, dripping, to get it.

Suarez was calling him.

"You've found something?" Jude asked.

"No. Our fire marshal is still investigating. He seems to believe the cause was one of the gas jets or one of their giant ovens and an overflow of grease, which, of course, has greatly relieved Maria Sanchez. It makes the appliance company liable. Not that we sue here in Mexico the way you do in the States-doesn't pay here. But that's another matter. A few of the people in the kitchen received serious burns, as I think you know. Three have been hospitalized," Suarez told him, "but will be released within the week."

"Well, that's good news," Jude said. "We want to thank you for your cooperation in a.s.sisting us."

"I cannot say, sir, that I am not pleased you are leaving," Suarez muttered.

"That's understandable."

"Of course, we remain grateful for the lives you saved, Agent McCoy, pulling people out of the kitchen."

"I'm a.s.suming a few of them might be the ones remaining in the hospital?" Jude asked.

Suarez chuckled. "Believe it or not, no. The two men you got out of the kitchen are well. Ricardo Martinez was treated on the scene and went home, and Javier Valiente just returned to his family. Maria Sanchez, too, was simply treated at the scene. She called me when my men had escorted her safely to her home. She lives a quarter mile from the Celtic American dock. A truly lovely woman. She called me from her whirlpool tub, saying she's fine and that you are a wonderful man."

"I'm pleased to hear this," Jude said. "And relieved that she's safe. You'll still-"

"Keep you apprised of the situation, Special Agent McCoy. Yes. It is a vow."

Jude hung up and finished his shower.

He put the final touches on his evening attire-grateful that he and Jackson had managed to outfit themselves at a cost that wouldn't prove a huge burden to the agency, thanks to the "captain's discount" they'd received at the onboard clothing store. Dressed, he decided to go to Jackson's cabin to catch up, but as he opened his door, he saw that Jackson had the same idea and was about to knock on his door.

"I just spoke with Suarez."

Jackson nodded. "I talked with him, as well. Thing is, we don't really know if anything happened here in Mexico or not."

"No, and we won't, not until someone checks the local churches."

"The Archangel has, so far, anyway, displayed the bodies at his leisure."

"But if he killed in Mexico and came aboard the Destiny again, he'd have to display his victim quickly," Jude said.

"I'll get hold of Suarez and Boulder and tell them to check all the churches near the cruise terminal," Jackson said. "Because of that explosion, we do have another problem."

"Yeah, we don't know where our suspects were while that was going on."

"I was following Roger Antrim, who came ash.o.r.e without his wife. I admit I lost him in my efforts to reach the restaurant. Boulder was watching Hank Osprey, who was having a drink with his young companion of last night. They were at a bar across from the restaurant. Her name's Ginny Monk, by the way-part-time student and part-time stripper at a joint on Bourbon."

"And Boulder lost them?"

"Not Ginny, just Hank, who disappeared, according to Boulder, gallantly telling her he had to help when he saw trouble."

"What about Jensen Hardy?" Jude said.

"He slipped away from one of Beach's men the minute he left the ship."

Jude let out an oath of frustration. Six. They still had six suspects-Hank Osprey, Roger Antrim, Jensen Hardy, Ralph Martini, Simon Green and Larry Hepburn. He mentioned that to Jackson, who shrugged.

"Six isn't so bad. We can watch, we can follow. If we get back to New Orleans without an arrest, we'll have resources to stay tight on every one of them. The Archangel may know we're close-which could scare him, make him go into quiet mode for weeks, months, even years. And then strike again."

"He won't go quiet," Jude said. "Not the Archangel. He thinks he's above us all, way better than we are-because we haven't caught him yet. But that's not what'll keep him going."

"What will?"

"The medallions. The saints' medallions. He's on a mission. I don't know what it is. But he won't stop. Not until he has a girl for every medallion in the set."

Jackson nodded thoughtfully. "Beach is posting a guard in the hallway all night. Clara Avery and Alexi Cromwell will be watched, I promise you."

Jude grinned. "I believe you. And whenever possible, I promise you, I'll be watching them myself."

Alexi tried to remind herself that she wasn't on a first date.

She wasn't on a date at all. Because she could see ghosts, she was suddenly on the FBI radar.

She hadn't encountered Byron Grant again, and she was surprised. She'd thought he might show up when she was playing. Maybe he'd spent himself trying to reach her and the FBI men and needed time to recoup. Or he was watching them from afar, perhaps convinced he'd already done whatever he could. It occurred to her that the next day, when the ship would be at sea again, she could take him on a tour. He might be interested in meeting a few of the other supernatural denizens of the Destiny.

She heard a knock at the door and spun around to open it.

Jude was there.

She recognized the suit and shirt he was wearing. They could be purchased at the Haberdashing Haberdashery on the Promenade Deck.

He grimaced, as if reading her mind. "Honestly, it's better than some of the clothing I own."

"It's a great suit," she told him. "And you wear it well."

"I thank you. And, I might add, you're so lovely in that red gown, the wearing of it should probably be considered illegal."

Alexi laughed.

"Sorry. I'm out of practice. I haven't tried to be charming lately."

She laughed again, and then they both stood there awkwardly. "I'm very sorry," he said after a moment's silence, and she knew somehow that he was referring to Zachary's death in the war zone. "We lost many good men."

"You served?"

He nodded. "Several years. Anyway, now I'm FBI. Glutton for punishment, huh?"

She held her head at an angle, studying him. "You have a distinct advantage, as they say. You have a dossier on me. I know nothing about you. Are you...married?"

"Divorced," he said briefly. "Several years now. Anyway, shall we eat? Walk around? Chat with some friends?" He looked at his watch. "It's only five. You have a few hours. Pa.s.sengers on the sh.o.r.e excursions won't be back for another two hours."

That sounded impossible. The explosion and fire seemed so long ago-almost as if it had all happened days or even weeks ago instead of at lunchtime.

"Let's do all of the above," Alexi responded. "I say we stroll the hallways deck by deck. Okay, not below us, since that's all engine rooms and storage. It actually takes up two decks. This one is called the Atlantic Deck." She gestured around. "Above us is a mixture of crew and entertainment and 'cheaper' rooms, and it's called the American Deck. And above that are some of the little cafes and lounges-such as the Algiers Saloon, where I work-and that's the St. Charles Deck. Next level is the Promenade, and then there's the Main Deck, and above that, the Lido Deck. We also have the Bridge Deck and the Sky Deck. And the original infirmary-not in use now, there's a nice modern one-is aft on the Promenade Deck, near the chapel. The chapel's never been updated. It's really beautiful with a stained-gla.s.s portal and carved pews and a lovely plain wood altar. The old infirmary is, of course, on the tours. I think you'll like it."

"Because you intend to introduce me to ghosts there?" he asked flatly.

"If they're around," she replied. "And you should definitely meet Captain McPherson."

"Still watching over the old ship, eh?"

"Old captains die hard," she said. Jude apparently wanted to be with her-and yet he seemed to hold himself at a distance. She suspected she knew why.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"About what?"

"That you...that you're so unhappy with yourself."

"I'm not unhappy with myself."

"You're unhappy that you see the dead. It's a gift, really."

"And you've always seen it as a gift?" he asked her.

She raised her shoulders in a shrug. "I'm one of those people who had tons of imaginary friends. Most people thought it was natural for a child. My mother didn't. She kept telling me I had to ignore my imaginary friends, and if I did, they'd go away. If I didn't, they'd make me crazy, wanting things from me. My grandmother told her once to leave me alone-that I had the 'magic.' Grandpa had been a 'magic man.' And it was prevalent in my family. I love my mother. I know she has whatever extra sense it is to know when she's not alone, but it terrifies her. Don't get me wrong. I love my mom. She's strong and wonderful, but seeing the dead does upset her. Some people are just...afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Jude said.

"Of course not. You're FBI. So you aren't afraid of anything."

They'd started out on the Atlantic Deck, casually walking along. They'd pa.s.sed a security office and were coming to the bank of elevators. He paused there and smiled as he looked down at her.

"Nope. One of the first lessons we learn is that only a fool ignores fear. I just know-or I believe-that the dead won't hurt us. They're trapped in their own form of Purgatory. Yes, I've managed to avoid admitting that I do see them. Except," he added, "once, when I was in the service. A friend of mine was killed. They told me he'd died instantly, that he was dead before he and I talked. But I know I saw him, know we spoke. He saved my life by warning me about a sniper. And he had a message for his wife. I gave it to her."

"There, you see! It's a very good thing," Alexi said.

"You accept it so easily."

She shrugged again. "With me, there wasn't much choice. And," she said, smiling, "trust me, there are lots of people out there who sing and play as well as I do. Or better. I'm not putting myself down. It's just that there are more talented people in the world than there are jobs. Anyway, a number of musicians freak out, working in the Algiers Saloon with Blake and Minnie. I don't. So, in a way, my very different 'talent' got me a job when I needed one."

His expression was strange. His eyes were intense-and yet he still seemed distant.

Almost as if he wanted to be close to her, and couldn't quite take that step.

"But you were never able to see your fiance," he said.

She inhaled. The moment felt strange and painful to her. No. And she'd wanted to see Zach so badly. He'd been deployed for almost three months when he was killed. At first she could see his face clearly in her mind's eye. But with each pa.s.sing day, she feared that she lost a little more of him. When she felt that way, guilt overwhelmed her, and it didn't matter how many times people told her he'd been dead for more than a year and that to honor him, she should live, pursue her own goals. And be happy. In fact, she'd promised Zach the same thing.

Did Jude fight the same battles?

"No. I've never seen Zach. He was a good guy. I wish you could've known him. He was never pretentious. He was courteous and he had a deep faith, much deeper than mine, I'm afraid, since I questioned his loss and that of so many other good people. I can't see him, but I do have faith that he went to something better, finer. My mother, in one of her strange moments of actually admitting things, said that Zach could go on, that he could leave this earth because he knew we'd all be okay, that I was strong and his family was strong. Anyway...we see those we see. I don't pretend to understand it."

He studied her and she was surprised to experience an almost physical sensation.

He'd let a barrier fall, she thought.

Well, maybe.

"Shall we continue our stroll?" he asked her.

"That would be lovely, sir, lovely."